


i say the syllables as i turn a corner

by cmbing



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: F/M, but in general it's fluff fluff fluff, jake and amy are obsessed with saying 'husband' and 'wife', jake and amy should just call each other husband and wife always, so much fluff it hurts, well ok there's angst once
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-02 05:56:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17258792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cmbing/pseuds/cmbing
Summary: “If you say wife one more time…” Rosa mutters.“Wife. Ha!” Jake jabs his finger in Rosa’s direction, grinning. “I win.”(or, jake and amy can't stop referring to each other as "my husband" and "my wife")





	i say the syllables as i turn a corner

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first ever b99 fic. hope you all enjoy it!

**Jake**

**1.**

“You’re my wife.”

“I am.”

“And I’m your husband.”

“You are.”

“We’re married.”

“Judging by our matching rings, very much so.”

“I’m so in love with you.”

“Is this how it’s going to be our entire honeymoon?”

He nods dumbly into his pillow, biting his bottom lip to keep from beaming. 

“Yeah, it is, _wife_.”

She kisses him, first soft, then dissolves into a hard press with hands fumbling and bodies meeting. They don’t leave their bed for hours.

**2.**

Jake hates it when the nine-nine gets quiet. 

He sits at his desk, looks at the empty one across from him (they’ve yet to find a partner suitable for Jake—he keeps telling them to give up, that no one can compare to Amy, but the search trudges along), and taps his fingers. 

Gina doesn’t look up from her phone; Charles is engrossed in an email Genevieve sent him about something mundane Nikolaj did; Rosa makes her way through paperwork but keeps fighting off a grin—probably a new girlfriend that Jake will pry about later. Terry is sick, and Jake doesn’t even bother to see what Hitchcock and Scully are up to.

He feels like he could burst.

But then—there’s the ding of the elevator sliding open. Jake swivels his chair around and he’s already grinning, all teeth and bright eyes. 

Amy. 

“Everyone, look at that, my wife is here. My beautiful, beautiful wife,” he announces to an unaware audience. 

Jake watches Amy’s cheeks turn a soft sheen of peek and seriously, how could he ever be this lucky, he’ll never know, but he walks over towards her and presses his lips one, two, three seconds onto hers, feels her smile against his own, and pulls back to see her blush harder. He loves how he has this effect on her, the ability to make her crumble under her stiff blue uniform. He thinks she’ll say something about professionalism, but then, _then_ , he feels the intertwining of fingers and the squeeze of her hand. His beautiful, beautiful wife. 

“Remind me again,” Rosa says unamused, barely looking up from her desk, “who’s your wife?”

“Come on Rosa,” Charles' close to swooning, his chin in his hand and his mouth a centimeter away from gaping. “They’re still in the honeymoon stage—all in love and hands on each other and constant sex that will lead to a baby—“

“Charles!” Amy cuts him off. 

“Yeah come on Rosa.” Gina puts down her phone. “Jake is the only relationship Amy has ever had. Let’s cross our fingers that it works out for her.”

Amy says, annoyed: “Gina, I’ve had other boyfriends. You’ve met Teddy multiple times.”

Gina screws her eyebrows together. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“You guys are just jealous that I have a wife.” Jake wraps his arm around Amy’s waist, pulling her flush to his side.

Rosa rolls her eyes. Charles gazes in adoration. Gina returns to tweeting. 

“If you say wife one more time…” Rosa mutters. 

“Wife. Ha!” Jake jabs his finger in Rosa’s direction, grinning. “I win.”

**3.**

“Where is she? Where’s Amy? _Where’s my wife_?” Jake is desperate, words stumbling and colliding as soon as they pass his lips. He feels like he is falling, searching for her, his wife, but finds the hands of Terry instead, catching the belligerent detective. 

“Jake—“ Holt. Holt’s there. His voice sounds distant and foggy.

“Sir, _sir, please_ — “

“Jake, she’s in surgery.” There’s a hand gripping onto Jake’s shoulder, fatherly, warm. Holt looks at Jake with serious, serious eyes and Jake wants to drown in the commotion. Terry leads Jake to a chair in the waiting room. He slumps into it, feels the scratch of faded fabric under his worrying palms.

“What,” his throat hurts, “what happened?”

A cop appears in his vision, his uniform crumpled and—oh god, that’s blood. Crimson streaks and pools across the navy fabric. The cop says, low and shaking: “Detective Peralta, I’m Office Alston. Your wife, she-she and I were on a case together. A B&E. But then… I don’t know how it happened. I thought I had the robber—I don’t know how I didn’t see the second one. There wasn’t _supposed_ to be a second, but there the guy was and he shot his gun and I don’t know, I think I blacked out for a moment, but then I saw your wife… there was just blood, so much blood. This shouldn’t have—“ The words stop. Alston looks winded. Jake drops his head into his hands.

He doesn’t remember when his hands started shaking. Maybe when he got the call to go to the hospital. Maybe when he got into his car and Charles called him, asking what had happened to Amy, if she was okay. Maybe when a nurse stopped him in the hallway and said, “Sir, please, just take a seat.” 

Maybe when he realized that Amy Santiago isn’t invisible. 

Three, four, possibly five hours pass before a doctor finally appears. Charles, Gina, and Rosa had arrived during that time, each pulling Jake into a fierce hug and murmuring kind words. Jake remained numb, eyes downcast and fingers knotted.

The doctor says, “You can see her," and Jake tries to find his footing, feeling a push and a pull. Elation, fear, a metallic taste in his mouth. He shakily swallows.

When he reaches her room, she’s awake and he’s immediately in tears. He brings her hand to his lips, her pulse sweet of life under the press of his mouth. Her smile is a ghost on her face, barely there but still present. 

“Ames,” he chokes out after a moment, his throat still wound up.

“Jake.” She says hoarsely. 

“You had me really worried.”

“It was just a bullet.”

“Now’s not the time for some humor.”

“But I don’t like seeing you sad.”

He wipes at his eyes, a light laugh stumbling across his lips. “Alright, alright I’ll stop.” A small smile touches his face. “Anything for my wife.”

 

**Amy**

**1.**

Amy tries to sneak up to the fourth floor as often as possible. She loves being a sergeant, but it still feels a bit off when she looks up from her desk and sees a sea of officers rather than her detective husband. So in the still, quiet moments of her squad, she tells Officer Jennings (who is more than willing) to maintain order while she deals with some personal business.

Namely, seeing Jake.

Except, when she steps into the familiar bullpen that day, he isn’t there.

“Where’s my husband?” Her voice catches on ‘husband’ and there’s a glint of a smile that has Rosa smirking from her corner.

“You mean Jake?” Rosa teases.

Amy slightly burns at the cheeks, realizing this is the first time she’s referred to Jake as her husband in front of their friends. Sure, she’s said it before, mainly during small moments with Jake, but this is a different sort of feeling. Something like pride mixed with disbelief. Her wedding band has resided on her left hand for some time now, but saying her husband, claiming Jake as her other half, it has her bitting at her bottom lip to keep from smiling.

“Yes, I mean Detective Peralta,” Amy counters with the nod of her head.

“Give Santiago a break,” Terry says, looking up from his computer, “I remember how I was when I first married Sharon. I couldn’t stop saying ‘my wife,’ no matter how annoying people found it. But to answer your question, Jake’s out in the field with Charles. They should be back in the next five minutes. Make yourself comfortable.”

Amy sits in the chair at her old desk, feeling a slight longing for how things used to be. Gina sitting behind Amy and teasing her, Jake breaking into a grin when he thinks he’s solved his case, Terry excitedly talking about the twins. The general comradery, the sense of family, all encapsulated in one room.  

Five minutes pass and she doesn’t hear Jake and Charles coming back at first, looking in the other direction instead, rapping her fingers against the cool metal of the desk.

“Did they hire someone to be my partner when we were away in the field? Jesus Christ, Charles, how long were we gone?” Jake scowls and Amy spins around, Jake’s slanted mouth dissolving into a wide smile. “Amy! What are you doing here?”

“She wanted to see _her husband_.” Rosa rolls her eyes.

Jake walks over towards her, eyes bright and crinkled. “Aw, Ames, did you miss me?”

“Maybe,” she says.

He bends over and presses a kiss to the crown of her forehead. “I missed you, too.”

She sighs out a loving whisper, only loud enough for him to hear: “My husband.”

**2.**

Amy Santiago does not brag.

She does not flaunt being such a young sergeant. She does not boast her incredible ability to solve cold cases. She does not gloat; she rather let her actions take the place of unsaid and unnecessary words.

She does not brag—unless it’s about her husband.

One Police Plaza decided in the previous week to throw a banquet for NYPD’s sergeants, wanting to congratulate everyone for their hard work, both new and old. Amy received the invite and immediately forwarded the email to Jake, throwing an emoji in her message out of pure excitement.

(Jake later swung by her desk that day and asked what color tie he should wear to match Amy’s dress just in case he needed to buy a new one. She nearly passed out from his thoughtfulness.)

On the night of the banquet, Amy began planning out what she would say to her colleagues: talk about the officers she presided over, discuss leadership skills, possibly ask more experienced sergeants for advice. She almost made notecards until Jake saw her bust out her 4x6 notecard stack and started shaking his head, saying that she should just be herself and let the conversation happen naturally.

But then, as she shakes the hands of sergeant after sergeant, she keeps going to one topic: Jake Peralta.

He stands next to her with their fingers intertwined, all dressed up in a navy suit plus a maroon tie, one that perfectly matches Amy’s own maroon dress. Back at their apartment, when he stepped out from their bedroom to reveal his outfit for the night, her mouth curled into a smirk that read _just wait until we get home._ He flashed a similar grin back when she showed him her fairly tight number.

And so, the conversations start like this:

“I actually just became a sergeant a couple months ago!”

“Hello Sergeant, I’m so happy to meet you.”

“I’ve been working on developing a new system of organization for my squad.”

Which quickly turn into this:

"Did you know my husband solved this cold case that our precinct all but gave up on?”

“Oh, my husband dealt with a similar case, but like the brilliant detective he is, he was able to figure out.”

“My husband was actually my partner when I was a detective. I’ll have to admit—I really do miss working with him. He's one of the best in the field.”

Jake later pulls Amy over towards the bar and says, “Maybe I should have let you write out some notecards.”

“What do you mean?” Amy asks, oblivious.

“Have you not noticed that you’ve been talking about me this whole night? I’m honored, I really am, but I thought you wanted to talk about, you know… boring sergeant-y stuff, not me.”

“Pssh, what, I haven’t been talking about you that much.”

“You just told Sergeant McAdams that, and I quote, ‘the whole idea of cops not dating each other is such a mistake. I mean, that’s how I met my husband and he’s perfect for me.’ Again, I’m flattered, babe, but…”

Amy throws her face into the palms of her hands. “Oh God, I really have been talking about you this whole time.”

Jake comfortingly rubs her lower back. “At least everyone will know that happy marriages do exist.”

“This is all your fault,” she says.

He throws his hands up like he’s being interrogated. “What?! What did I do?”

“Be such a good husband! Now I’m stuck in that honeymoon phase that Charles won’t shut up about.”

“It’s okay, Ames.” He kisses her softly. “I don’t think I’ll ever leave that phase either.”

**3.**

The second Amy hears Jake’s badge number over the police scanner, she rushes to the elevator.

“Wait, what’s going on?” One of her officers asks, his face awash in confusion and concern.

All Amy can choke out is, “My husband.”

She curses out the city traffic as the seconds and minutes drag on; more time away from Jake and the danger he could be in. The scanner reported a robbery that had quickly grown hostile with gunshots and at least one reported injury. Amy grips onto her steering wheel harder and sees her knuckles turn white.

She doesn’t let go, her hands ghostly pale and shaking, until she roles up to the scene. Throwing open her car door and charging towards the yellow caution tape, she is immediately stopped by a cop. The cop is a younger woman with nervous rookie eyes and an overly-straightness to her stance. Her arm blocks Amy.

“Sergeant, we already have enough cops on the scene.” The cop says, her tone wavering in the presence of authority.

“I don’t care how many cops there already are. One of them is my _husband_.” Amy grits her teeth. “You are letting me through.”

“Ma’am—”

“No, you are not ma’am-ing me. I am a sergeant and you are letting me see my husband.”

The cop gives in, stumbling back and picking up the caution tape to let Amy through. Amy, now a dangerous concoction of nerves and anger, strides through the crime scene with her gun in hand. She circles the store that the robbery occurred at, spotting more and more cops.

All except her husband.

She moves closer to the door into the store, every fiber of her being on edge when suddenly it flies open, and she comes face to face with Charles, Jake, and the robber in their strong grips.

Jake steps a step back, looking at the gun, and laughs, “Woah, woah, babe. When I said we should do roleplay, I didn’t mean like this.”

Amy sputters. “But… what… I heard the scanner. I-I thought you could have been hurt. I thought the robber was still at large.”

“Nah,” Jake shakes his head, “this d-bag here put his gun down and his hands up once he saw Charles and me.”

“And the reported injury?”

“Charles tripped in the store and cut his knee on a shelf of Goldfish.”

“Dude!” Charles protests. “I thought you were going to keep that between the two of us.”

Jake shrugs and mouths ‘sorry.’

“But the gunshots—”

“Just two. Both went way astray. Turns out our robber here isn’t much of a marksman.” Jake says.

Amy places her gun back into her holster and wipes the sweat off her brow. “I really thought something had happened to you.”

“Babe,” Jake says softly. “I’m fine. You don’t have to worry.”

“But I do,” Amy argues back. “You’re my husband.”

Jake looks like he’s about to lean into a kiss and Amy is completely receptive despite the stupid grin that’s starting to form on Charles’ face... until there’s the clearing of someone’s throat.

“Can you throw me in the back of your cop car before you suck face with your wife?” The robber asks, annoyed.

“Oh yeah—forgot all about you.” Jake pushes the robber into Charles’ grip. “Deal with this guy, Charles. I gotta talk to my wife.”

Charles keeps smiling. “Anything for you lovebirds.”

Jake and Amy shutter in disgust as they watch Charles take away the disgruntled man. Amy looks up at Jake, takes in his face, his half-smile and brown eyes, and lets out a sigh. “I’m just happy you’re okay.”

“Ames, seriously, you’re never gonna be able to get rid of me.” He says, bringing his hand to her cheek.

She leans into his warm touch. “Good, because the feeling’s mutual, babe.”


End file.
